Roy's Reflections
by Washingtonmyhome
Summary: Random entries from Roy's journal about his work and his life. Not in chronological order. Will be as I finish entries.


3

July 21

Today, we were pestered by a Hollywood screenwriter and his bleached blonde girlfriend who has all the smarts of a used bag of D5W. Actually, I think that the bag of D5W is smarter. I know that a woman's hair color should not affect her intelligence, but Ms. Renee October fit the stereotype of a 'dumb blonde'. She's an actress. Does that surprise anyone? Anyway, she came to visit our screenwriter, whose name is Art Frommich, and became quite the nuisance. All the guys except for me were falling all over her to be nice to her. I could see that she was not worth falling for. I kept my mouth shut, even though I longed to tell the guys to quit fawning over Ms. October.

So, anyway, Art Frommich went out on several calls with us, getting in our way, of course. He made quite a few assumptions he should not have been making about firefighters and what we do. Dick Friend, our public information officer, had the _pleasure_ of escorting the man around the station, and the only question our screenwriter had was "Where's the pole?" What kind of stupid question is that? Oh, brother. Dick had to inform Mr. Frommich that Station 51 does not have a pole. Our building, after all, is only one story high. Why would we _ever_ need a pole to go sliding down when the alarm goes off?

But that was not the only way Art Frommich made a nuisance of himself. He rode along with us in the squad, between Johnny and me, and while I was driving to our first call of the day, he was talking into a tape recorder, saying we were driving down the road at 90 miles an hour on our way to a **DIRE EMERGENCY**. I'd glanced down at the speedometer and noted that it read 40 miles an hour.

It was ludicrous, to say the least. But then, what should I have expected? I may live in Los Angeles, but my knowledge of Hollywood and how things work there are pretty sketchy. It was obvious to me, even with my sketchy knowledge of that neck of the woods, that Frommich was going for the drama factor, and probably was more interested in making everything seem more exciting than it really was. Besides, he was probably trying to find ways to sell his screenplay, so that no doubt factored into how he was thinking about firefighters, paramedics, and what we do.

He also nosed around the hospital after we arrived. He was really supposed to stay with us, but he went off on his own with that tape recorder and started poking around the waiting room and the base station until Dixie caught him. She told us we needed to brief our observers before they came with us. Johnny informed her that he was 'brief proof', which was true. We'd tried to explain more about our jobs to Frommich so that he would understand the difference between the perception and the reality of our work, but he was so stuck on his views of firefighters and paramedics that he was not willing to consider anything different. Like Johnny said, Art was 'brief proof'.

Maybe one day, he'll get his head unstuck from his posterior and realize how wrong he was about us. But then again, how likely is that? I don't think any medical intervention will cure that terminal case of rectal cranial inversion. There will be paramedics on the moon before that happens.

So, we eventually were able to ditch that pathetic excuse for a screenwriter in a bad polyester leisure suit and his bleached blonde girlfriend Ms. October. He disappeared with her for an hour or two just around lunchtime, and then he spent the afternoon in Cap's office writing or trying to write his screenplay.

We got called out just after Frommich and Used Bag of D5W left for their lunch at Ptomaine's, one of the most expensive restaurants in town, and sent to Eats, one of the many upscale grocery stores in Carson, to assist with a birth. On the sidewalk in front of the store was the usual crowd of gawkers and the patient and her husband. The gawkers drive me crazy, but I try not to let them bother me while I'm attending to the patient. Still, I wish sometimes we could charge admission to our responses. Maybe, we would have fewer people rubbernecking. Sometimes, they can be helpful, but most of the time having an audience is a hindrance and not a help.

Our patient was a red haired woman in a blue gingham dress, sandals, and gold hoop earrings. She was lying on the sidewalk with a dark haired man, whom we assumed was her husband, holding onto her hand. I asked her "How far apart are the contractions?" But she kept huffing and puffing and didn't answer.

The husband's attention was only on his wife until Johnny touched his arm. The man looked up when Johnny said "Sir, we're going to need your cooperation." But he gave us both blank stares, and we didn't understand why. Once I had the man's attention, I repeated my question, only I asked "How far apart are the pains?" He reached into his pocket and pulled out a pen and a pad of paper and wrote something down on the top page. I read the page and told Johnny, "She has labor contractions every two to three minutes." The man handed me another note then, and I read it out loud, "They're both deaf and can't speak."

Oh, boy. Now what do we do? Luckily both husband and wife can read lips; though her ability to concentrate on what I was saying to her was likely affected by the anxiety she was under due to her being in labor. The husband's blank stares were likely both because he was worrying about his wife and he was trying to read our lips.

It was one of the most interesting maternity cases we have ever had. Not only were we dealing with what was becoming quite a public spectacle because we were outside on the sidewalk in front of Eats. But the fact that both the patient and her husband were deaf also added to the interest factor of the case.

Now, assisting a woman in labor is one of the more rewarding aspects of the job. Helping to bring a baby into the world is very gratifying, especially among all the deaths that we sometimes witness. It's a reminder of the fact that even as one life ends, another begins. But birth is also messy, and babies are susceptible to a lot of different germs that most people don't have to worry about. So, we could not continue to allow the couple to stay outside on the sidewalk of Eats. We had to get her inside because there was not much time left before our mother would give birth.

So, as soon as we could get her onto a stretcher, we took the patient inside the store and we were met by the store manager, who wanted to know what was happening. I explained that we had a mother who was about to deliver a baby, and I asked if there was a back room where we could take her. The manager was very coolheaded and willing to accommodate us in the back room. He showed us into the room, which had a table on it with some rolls of toilet paper sitting on the top. And, after the manager removed the toilet paper rolls we set our patient down on the table. I had to run outside to get the rest of our equipment, and I told the husband, "When the pain starts, have her take a deep breath and blow it out and then take another deep breath and then hold it." The man then relayed the instructions I'd given him to his wife.

It wasn't long after Johnny and I returned to the room that the patient gave birth to a healthy baby girl, something which pleased them very much. While we were getting ready to take the mother to the hospital, the couple told us their names were Rick and Patti Garrett. They had another daughter, named Lisa, and they asked me and Johnny our names, which we told them. Rick asked if either one of us had children. I said yes, I have a daughter Jennifer and a son Chris. Patti then asked if I would be offended if I called her daughter Jennifer. Of course, I wasn't offended. So now, Rick and Patti have a 6 pound baby girl named Jennifer Garrett, named in honor of my lovely daughter, Jennifer, even though they've never met my family.

So now, I sit on my bunk at the end of the day. I'm tired, but I'm also thankful that we had a good day. We brought a new life into the world, and we again helped people in need, even with the unwanted intrusion of Arthur Frommich, Hollywood Screenwriter and pain in the butt extraordinaire. I will say this much about the 'good screenwriter': if I never saw the man again, it wouldn't be too soon. I'm in NO hurry to try to cure his terminal case of head up his rear end disease.

Goodnight, L.A.

P.S., I wonder if, in light of our experience with Patti and Rick, and our difficulties communicating with them, we should learn sign language. That knowledge might be very useful down the road because no doubt we will encounter other people in the field who have issues with communications. It's something we'll have to look into.


End file.
